Fade to Black
by Deranged Black Kitten
Summary: Shawn didn't care what the doctor or anybody else said. He didn't have a condition. The diagnosis was wrong. He wasn't-
1. Chapter 1

_Hey everyone. I come bearing another multichapter Psych fic for you all. Unlike my previous fics, there's no slash in this or really any romance planned at all. It's more of a hurt/comfort/drama/family/friends fic This first chapter takes place in the beginning of season one._

Lawyers: Our client does not own Psych, nor is she gaining any profit by writing this fic. Don't sue her.

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**Chapter One**

A million different thoughts raced through his head and he couldn't focus on a single one of them.

'_This isn't possib- not real- how am I going to- have to quit- must be wrong, he can't be, **I** can't be- what will I tell- can't tell anyone- isn't happening. It's **not** happening. No, not to me._"

"Here," Dr. Field said, holding out a pamphlet that Shawn didn't even care to read the title of before he folded it up and slipped it into his back pocket. "I know this is a lot to process, but you have my number and you can call me if you have questions. I want to schedule you for a few more tests next week just to make sure this isn't-"

Shawn's mind fell into a fog. He barely heard the rest of the doctor's words before he drifted back out into the waiting room; his arms hanging lifelessly by his sides. He would have left, completely forgetting to schedule another appointment if the secretary at the front desk hadn't called him over.

After telling her that he didn't care about the time or day he came back, she filled out a small appointment card that he put into his back pocket along with the pamphlet. As he left the small office, the secretary, who had been so rude to him before when he was checking in for his appointment, gave him a kind smile.

Shawn slipped his helmet over his head before hopping on his bike to go. As he turned the key in the ignition and the bike roared to life, he could practically hear his dad's voice asking, "Should you really be driving that death trap in your condition?"

His _condition._

Silently fuming, Shawn pulled out of the parking lot. He didn't care what the doctor or anybody else said, he didn't _have_ a condition. The diagnosis was wrong. He wasn't-

His motorcycle rumbled angrily as he traveled the side roads around Santa Barbara traffic, passing through different neighborhoods. He didn't really have a destination in mind. He was simply driving for the sake of driving; a mindless task he could focus on.

Blinker on, turn left. Slow down to stop at the stop sign. Continue going straight. Blinker on again, turn right this time.

He didn't want to go home because then he would be alone with nothing to focus on but thoughts he didn't want to be thinking about. He also didn't really want to be around anybody; not Gus, not anyone at the station, especially not his father. How was it possible for someone to want to be alone and yet _not_ want to be alone at the same time?

'_I suppose it makes sense_' he thought distantly, his mind drifting back to what he had been trying to avoid thinking about. '_It would explain why I've been missing certain details that I usually would have noticed in a passing glance._'

'_No_' a part of his mind snarled at him. '_You were just distracted. Everyone has a few off days. Stop trying to accept it! And it **doesn't** make sense, nobody in our family's ever had- what the hell is it even called?_'

'_The doctor said almost half of all cases occur in families where there is no history of the disease,_' he pointed out, unable to find it in himself to care that he was talking to himself.

'_The doctor's a quack! Don't you think we would have noticed something like-_'

'_It's so gradual, I couldn't even tell..._'

Suddenly aware that he was going sixty on a thirty miles per hour road, he slowed down and forced himself to focus more on driving, though he still couldn't keep his thoughts from wandering.

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It was supposed to be a routine checkup; one that he had been putting off for awhile partly because he had been so busy traveling the country, but also because he hadn't really seen the point. When he finally _did _get back to Santa Barbara, the whole psychic thing made his life even more busy and the last thing he wanted to do was spend an hour of his day at the eye doctors. Still, it needed to be done, and if he ever wanted them to stop sending him letters about his long-past-due checkup -how his old eye doctor _ever_ found out about his new apartment address was completely beyond him- he'd have to bite the bullet and go in to see them.

Not counting the time spent in the waiting room, it was also supposed to be a fairly quick visit. He's in, he reads some letters and numbers off of a chart, they give him those annoying eye drops, shine a light in his eyes, and he's good to go.

His first clue that something was off was when the doctor was using one of their ridiculously large contraptions to shine a little light into his eyes and, examining them closely, he hummed questionably. Adjusting the light's direction, he continued the examination for several more minutes, making curious sound effects the whole time.

"What?" Shawn finally asked.

Pulling the contraption away, along with the one Shawn had to rest his chin on to hold his head in place, the doctor sat down on a rolling chair and asked, "Do you had a history of night blindness, Mr. Spencer?"

"Yeah, a little bit, I guess," Shawn said, not quite sure where this conversation was going.

The eye doctor, Dr. Field, asked several more questions, many of which Shawn answered 'no' to, before pulling out yet another eye chart to hang up across the room. Instructing Shawn to look straight on at the chart and to not move his head at all, he had Shawn read off the numbers on the chart from left to right and then right to left. Several more tests like this one were performed before Shawn was shooed back out into the waiting room while the doctor checked something.

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'_I should have just left then_' he thought, taking a left down another random street.

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His next clue that this checkup was turning out to be not so routine was when he caught a glimpse of Dr. Field talking rather animatedly on the phone with someone while looking through _his_ medical files. When the looks the secretary shot him became more concerned than annoyed, Shawn started to get a little nervous and wanted jump up and ask what was wrong with everybody. Did he somehow step into the twilight zone? It sure felt like it.

Dr. Field was anything but a ray of sunshine when he came back out into the waiting room. He took Shawn into his office and explained that he wanted to run another test, a more thorough one, but it would take about an hour to perform and if Shawn didn't have the time, they should reschedule for another day.

"Would you just come out and tell me what the hell this test is supposed to explain?" Shawn asked, frustrated with the whole situation.

Folding his hands on his lap, Dr. Field said, "I think you may have something called retinitis pigmentosa. It's an inherited eye disease that can be caused by a number of genetic defects and causes damage to the retina."

"But I already told you, nobody in my family has major eye problems," Shawn said.

Nobody that he knew of, at least.

"It can still develop even though you have no previous family history of vision loss," Dr. Field said.

Shawn sucked in a breath as the severity of the matter slowly sunk in. "Vision loss? How... how bad are we talking here?"

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As he drove through yet another neighborhood, tears welled up at the surface, threatening to spill free from his eyes. His stupid, _stupid_ eyes.

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"Well, the disease and its progression is different in each case," Dr. Field explained. "But until we do the test and know that this is what it is for sure, I don't want to worry you with the details."

'_Too late, Doc._'

"I'll take the test."

He had to know.

So he was brought into yet another room for this test. It was called an electroretinogram, and if the name wasn't enough to deter him, the brief description of the procedure was enough to make him want to go running out the door. He would rather _not_ have electrodes placed on his eyes and if they _were_ just like contacts, then why were numbing eye drops required?

Despite all this, Shawn still sat down in the chair and let them numb his eyes with the eye drops. It was the weirdest feeling he's ever had the displeasure of experiencing. His eyes were propped open after that and an electrical sensor was placed on each eye. It kind of felt like a fly landed on his eye, sat down and decided to take a nap. Following all of this was a series of flashing lights and his response to normal room light and darkness.

Almost an hour later, he was led back into the waiting room under the instructions that he couldn't rub his eyes for an hour afterward. Sitting in a waiting room chair that he found quite uncomfortable at this point, he twisted a magazine up in his hands to distract himself from the urge to rub his eyes.

While Shawn waited for Dr. Field to come and get him to explain the results, it occurred to him that this was the perfect form of torture. Not only was he at his nerves end waiting for these results, the feeling in his eyes was driving him crazy. Maybe he should go put on his motorcycle helmet and make a show of clawing at it dramatically in a failed attempt at rubbing his eyes.

He blinked rapidly and one eye twitched. Maybe it was a whole mind-over-matter thing and he only wanted to rub his eyes because they told him not to.

The secretary smiled at him and gave him a look that made him feel like a toddler who just got a shot and didn't even cry. Just as he was about to suggest to her that they give out lollipops after tests like these, Dr. Field called him back.

As he walked back to the man's office, he went through a slew of different emotions. First and foremost was fear, an 'Oh my _god,_ I must have it, why else would the secretary do a complete one-eighty on her attitude and act so freakishly nice to me?' type-of-fear. Then there was an 'after all I've done, why is there even a possible chance of this happening to me' anger, followed by a hysterical 'This can't be happening, my eye-sight is everything to me!' All of this was wrapped up by a calm 'Everything will be fine. Stuff like that just doesn't happen to me.'

Shawn sat down in the same chair he sat in the first time he was in Dr. Field's office. One hand curled around the chair's arm until his knuckles turned white and the other hand rested on his leg; his fingers pulling at a loose thread in his jeans.

Dr. Field sat down across from him, sighing quietly through his nose before he said, "Your tests came back positive."

"Positive," Shawn breathed, looking down. "That's not so positive, is it?"

"You had abnormal results in response to each flash and based on your previous symptoms along with what I saw when I examined your eyes, I'd have to go with my original diagnosis of retinitis pigmentosa," Dr. Field explained. "There are a few more tests I could try if you want more proof, but-"

"Just... Tell me," Shawn said, stopping the man. "What does this mean? You said vision loss."

"As I said before, the disease and its progression differ in each case," the man said, getting into doctor-mode. "In the most common form of retinitis pigmentosa, loss of night vision would be the first thing to occur."

He hadn't realized that there was something off about how he saw during the night. It was _night,_ it was supposed to be dark out and therefore hard to see things. So yeah, it was harder to see things in the dark now then when he was a kid, but couldn't you just chalk that up to getting older?

"Following that would be a loss of your peripheral vision which, judging from the field tests you did earlier with the charts, has already started," he said.

"What?" Shawn asked, looking up at the man. "Field tests?"

"Yes, with the long number charts," the doctor said. "When I told you to read off the numbers from left to right and vice-versa, you skipped past the first and last five numbers on the charts. The other tests showed similar results."

How could he not notice something like that?

"What about treatment?" he asked, grasping at straws.

"Wearing sunglasses outside may help preserve some vision," The doctor said. "Although there are some studies being done on possible treatment, there's no actual cure at the moment."

"Is that all?" Shawn asked after a moment of silence, the hand on his lap curled into a fist with his nails digging into his palm. "I'll just... just have night blindness and lose my peripheral vision?"

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Suddenly a dog seemed to emerge from nowhere, walking directly into his path. His heart leaped into his throat as he swerved the bike around it, breaking once he was clear. Thankfully, there was no traffic on this road, so he didn't have to worry about plowing into an oncoming car. He looked over his shoulder in the direct of the dog, but he couldn't see it. Had he hit it anyway?

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"Let me assure you, Mr. Spencer, that this is only in extreme cases and usually doesn't happen for _years_, but the last symptom is a very restricted tunnel vision and in some cases blindness, though not usually."

Usually. That was the problem, wasn't it? Not definitely, but _usually._

The room was suddenly far too hot and the air too thick.

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Shawn twisted around on the bike until he was practically facing the direction the dog was in. The animal was fine and it looked at him curiously before walking away. Shawn breathed a sigh of relief before an icy dread shivered in the pit of his stomach as the situation fully hit him.

He almost hadn't seen it in time. The dog had probably been walking toward the road at a leisurely pace and he hadn't seen it until it was almost too late.

"I'm just distracted," he mumbled. "That's all."

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"I'm... I'm going to go blind?"

"You will retain _some_ of your sight."

Probably was the unspoken word there. He wouldn't _definitely_ keep some of his sight, he would _probably_ keep some of his sight.

"It will be very restricted though. I'm sorry Mr. Spencer."

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Shawn decided to head back to his apartment after the whole dog incident. Though he still didn't like the idea of being alone with his thoughts, at the moment he didn't like the idea of driving even more. Turning on all the lights, he paced his apartment, trying to decide what his next move should be.

"I don't _need_ to figure out my next move because everything's fine," he said adamantly. "Nothing's changed."

Eyeing the empty wall on the far side of the living room, Shawn suddenly had an idea. Grabbing a marker, he started at one end of the wall and, moving across it horizontally, he evenly numbered the wall from one to forty. When he was done, the wall looked almost like an eye doctor's chart, just with more numbers. Grabbing some duct tape from a drawer, he taped down an X at a central point in his living room where he a good enough distance away from the wall as well as centered.

"If anything _does_ change, I'll know and be able to adjust accordingly," he said as he stood over the X and stared straight forward at the wall.

He could see between the numbers three and thirty-six.

Marking the points where his vision cut off on the living room wall, he capped the marker and mumbled to himself, "This isn't that big of a deal. Losing some of my peripheral vision just means I can't catch clues out of the corner of my eye. I'll just have to look around a bit more, that's all."

'_And no one has to know about this...'_

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_That's all for chapter one. I pretty much randomly came up with this like two days ago, details of the plot and stuff like that. I know the blind thing has been done before, but I want to go deeper into the emotion of something like this. Also, I'm not a doctor, so please excuse any medical mistakes._

_Tell me if you like it so far. Review please!_


	2. Chapter 2

Lawyers: Our client does not own Psych, nor is she gaining any profit by writing this fic. Don't sue her.

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**Chapter 2**

Shawn sat curled up in the corner of his couch with his back to the arm rest. Held loosely in his hand was the pamphlet Dr. Field gave him. Despite his previous refusal to admit there was something wrong with his eyes, his morbid curiosity got the best of him and he had already read through it twice.

He couldn't stop himself. He couldn't stop the reality of the situation from sinking in with each page he read and he couldn't stop his mind from wandering in the direction of, '_What if..._'

He had the whole pamphlet committed to memory after reading it the first time. There was really no reason to look at it again, yet he read through it a second time and...

Shawn stared down at the pamphlet, fiddling with a corner, and wondered why he was torturing himself like this.

The title was simple enough and straight to the point. Retinitis Pigmentosa, typed out in large text, as was the rest of the pamphlet, probably for people further along in the disease who couldn't see as well. Shawn was a bit surprised his eye doctor even had pamphlets on the disease considering how uncommon it was.

'_Around one person to every twenty-five-hundred,_' Shawn recalled. '_Aren't I lucky?_'

He opened up the pamphlet and skimmed through the first page. The first few paragraphs told him what Dr. Field had already explained to him; that retinitis pigmentosa (RP) was a genetic degenerative eye disease; that you could still get it even if there's no history of the disease in your family, and it went on to describe the progressive pattern of RP's most common form.

There were some things Dr. Field didn't explain though, such as the variations for the disease. Apparently in some cases, central vision was lost first, and with it went the ability to see fine details, recognize faces and see colors correctly.

'_Making my photographic memory obsolete._'

It wasn't that Shawn was worried about losing his central vision first, the gradual decline of his peripheral vision was proof enough that that wasn't the case, it was just that he was more concerned about when the time would come in the future for his central vision to go and all of those important little factors with it.

'_How can I continue work at Psych if I can't see small details and people's faces?_'

No, he wasn't going to go down that road and he berated himself from even worrying at all because according to the second page of the pamphlet, many people with RP don't become legally blind until their forties or fifties. He was thirty. Rounding up, he had at least another fifteen years before he had to worry about anything. By that time, he might even be tired of Psych.

'_But it also says that some people can lose their sight to RP in as early as childhood,_' a small part of his mind pointed out. '_You just don't know._'

Glaring at the page and the small reminder in his head, Shawn flipped to the next page, but what it said did little to lighten his mood. The page talked about the genetic aspects of the disease and how much of the research on RP focused on the genetic causes of the disease. He couldn't help but be reminded of the specialist he had seen just a day ago...

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His whole week had consisted of a few more tests just to make sure he _only_ had RP and not one of the other diseases that had similar symptoms or was sometimes linked to RP. Shawn supposed he should be grateful that the tests came back negative, yet somehow that particular silver lining on the dark cloud that had settled over his life was lost on him.

After explaining that he only knew so much about the disease, Dr. Field had referred him to a specialist who could better handle his needs. Shawn hadn't really seen the point. If there was no cure, then what could a specialist possibly do for him? Still, when the time came, Shawn dragged himself to his appointment with one Dr. Charia.

After filling out forms and waiting in the waiting room for a good half-hour, Dr. Charia had taken him in to a back room to do her own tests, as if he hadn't had enough tests already, just to make sure that the diagnosis was correct. It was right, of course, and after she repeated to him what Dr. Field had already told him, she went off on a whole big spiel about how she wanted to do some genetic tests on him to see if they could find the specific defective gene that was causing his disease.

Just as she began talking about how his insurance might not cover all of the tests and that he would have to pay a little bit out of his pocket, he held up a hand to stop her and asked, "Will this test actually cure me or prolong its progression in any way?"

She paused for a moment to purse her lips before saying, "The point of the test is to find the specific gene in your family that is causing the disease. This information could be used in the future for finding a possible cure or finding a way to isolate the gene so that it doesn't affect future generations."

It wasn't anything personal against Dr. Charia, Shawn was just tired of all the tests and tired of going in for doctor's visits that ended up being completely pointless since they only ended up telling him things he already knew. He had wasted hours of his life, hours he could have spent going somewhere and _seeing_ things just so that he could be told that, "No, there's no real way I can help you right now, nothing I can cure you with, but if you pay _me_ more money, money out of your own pocket, it might somehow benefit a future generation."

"So, just to be clear, that's a 'No' then on the cure?" Shawn asked. Dr. Charia paused again, seeming to consider her wording carefully, but before she could actually answer him, Shawn said, "I think I'll be going now. I'll let myself out, thanks."

"Mr. Spencer!" she called after him as he left down the hall towards the waiting room and the exit. He ignored her though and walked out of the building, not planning on coming back anytime soon.

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Shawn closed the pamphlet and stared down at it with a small sigh before tossing it across the room like a Frisbee. It spun in the air briefly before hitting the floor near the numbered wall. Shawn's gaze traveled from the pamphlet up to the numbers on the wall. It was too soon from the first time he checked for there to actually have been a change. He was still between three and thirty-six.

'_Bet I got the bad genes from Dad,_' he thought with a frown.

The phone suddenly rang and Shawn dragged himself off of the couch and headed into the kitchen to grab it. Glancing at the caller ID, he muttered out loud, "Speak of the devil." before picking up the phone and saying in as normal a tone as he could, "Hey Dad. What's up?"

"You on your way over? The steaks are ready to go on the grill," Henry said.

Shawn mentally cursed. He had gotten so distracted with all of the tests and doctor's visits that he completely forgot about dinner plans with his father. He wondered for a moment if he should just cancel, he didn't really feel like socializing in general at the moment.

'_He'll just ask questions if I do._'

'_It'll be getting dark soon,_' that small part of his mind reminded him quietly. '_Maybe you shouldn't..._'

Pushing aside his slight unease at driving in the dark, Shawn said in his normally carefree tone, "Yeah, I'll be over in a bit. See you soon."

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_That's all for chapter two. Not very eventful, I know, but it was necessary. Chapters after this will be jumping a bit further in time because the disease's progression is gradual and not an overnight thing._

_Review please!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Hey everyone, here's chapter three. It takes place after Game Set... Murder? and before Poker? I Barely Know Her. As for the passage of time, I'm going under the assumption here that they don't get one case right after the other, so there's a period of waiting time in between each case._

Lawyers: Our client does not own Psych, nor is she gaining any profit by writing this fic. Don't sue her.

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**Chapter Three**

He was between seven and thirty-two.

Shawn glared at the wall. He was having a bad couple of months. Before, the decline had been so gradual that he couldn't even see a difference on a week to week basis. For months, the lines marking his peripheral vision barely moved a centimeter. Starting a few months back though, they suddenly picked up the pace until...

Seven and thirty-two.

He had called Dr. Field about the sudden change and found that something like this was normal. The pace of vision loss fluctuates and for some people, a rapid decline happens more often than others. That's not to say, however, that he will continue at this speed and Dr. Field assured him that he will even off at a slower pace soon enough. Dr. Field then went on to say that Shawn should notify Dr. Charia of the change, but Shawn had made a quick excuse to get off the phone before the other man could speak further on the matter.

Sighing, Shawn rubbed at his eyes and blinked a few times before staring at the wall, as if that would somehow help. The change was so noticeable now that he didn't even need to look at the numbered wall to see it.

Solving cases was getting harder too and it wasn't because the criminals were getting smarter. He had to look around a crime scene twice as much as before and even then, he couldn't help but feel paranoid that he missed something. The whole process was becoming exhausting and not as much fun as it used to be. He missed being able to solve cases, or any crime for that matter, with the ease of an _actual_ psychic.

The worst part of it was, on his and Gus' most recent case, Shawn had actually had to ask his father for help. It wasn't because he was having one of his occasional minor road blocks and it wasn't because he needed a bit of the patented Henry Spencer advice, no, he needed his father's help because he actually wasn't _seeing_ that one key clue that would solve the puzzle.

He figured it out eventually, after a little direction from his father, but he didn't solve it nearly as quickly as he would have liked. Still, he revealed to all that it was the crime scene photographer that attempted to murder Deanne, the tennis player, and laughed the delay off as an off day, hiding his disappointment behind a smile.

There was one thing to be grateful for in all of this though, and that was his photographic memory. Although he'd never admit this to his father, he was thankful for all of the training that helped him master his photographic memory. There have been many times in his life when he considered his memory skills a curse. A perfect example of this would have to be when he was fifteen and he walked in on his parents doing unspeakable things to each other.

Shuddering, Shawn reminded himself to _never_ use that as an example again.

Now though, when his vision was slowly fading away at the edges, his photographic memory was a gift because even when he closed his eyes, he could picture the layout of his apartment and could navigate his way around it without any problems. The same went for the station and any other place he was familiar with on a regular basis. So even if his vision did fail him any further, there wouldn't be any problems because he could _see_ with his mind.

Just to prove this to himself and any other doubtful voice that might be lingering in his mind, Shawn walked around his apartment for a good hour with his eyes closed and he only tripped once.

There was a knock on his front door and Shawn raised an eyebrow in question. The only person he could think of as to who it might be was Gus. They made plans to celebrate after Gus got back from the rest of his corporate retreat. Gus thought it was mostly about the case, but in truth, Shawn was celebrating the new distribution route Gus earned upon returning to the corporate retreat after the case. It was sort of like a promotion; plus, Shawn could use a distraction like going out and having fun with his friend. Still, Gus wasn't supposed to be coming over for another hour and Shawn planned on meeting him downstairs at the front entrance of his apartment.

Quickly looking through the peephole to see that it was in fact Gus, Shawn opened the door only half-way and blocked Gus' view of his apartment. As if coming up with excuses for why he suddenly wore sunglasses whenever he was outside wasn't enough, the last thing Shawn wanted to do was explain the numbers on his wall.

"Gus," he greeted cheerfully. "I wasn't expecting you this soon."

"I got all of my paperwork for today done sooner than I expected," Gus said with a shrug. "Figured we could head out early."

"Whatever happened to being fashionably late?" Shawn asked, wondering if he could just tell Gus to wait outside while he grabbed his wallet.

'_No, that'd be suspicious,_' he thought. '_More suspicious than the wall though?_'

"It's late enough, let's go," Gus said.

"Sure," Shawn said with a tight smile. "Let me just grab my wallet."

He left the door open, deciding to just go with the flow and see if Gus would wait or come in, but of course he best friend would come in. They've known each other so long that they didn't need an invitation into the other's home. While Shawn looked for his wallet - _where did that thing go?_ - it only took a minute before Gus noticed the numbers on the wall.

"What did you do to your wall?" he asked a bit exasperated, not sounding surprised at all.

"Got bored and wanted to try out a little art project. Sort of like a paint-by-numbers," Shawn said and commended himself on coming up with something believable on such short notice.

"Doesn't look like it," Gus said, examining the wall closely.

"Well, I'm not done yet," Shawn said indignantly.

"You could lose your security deposit for this," Gus commented.

"Relax, I'll paint over it if I need to," Shawn said.

'_Damn it, where is that wallet? I swear I left it on the counter,_' he growled to himself in frustration.

After several minutes of searching, Shawn finally gave in and said, "Dude, help me find my wallet."

"Where did you have it last?" Gus asked.

"On the kitchen counter, I thought," Shawn said, deciding to look in his bedroom instead while Gus walked into the kitchen.

"Found it!" Gus called out a moment later.

"What? Where was it?" Shawn asked, walking back out into the kitchen/living room area.

"In a corner, right by the counter," Gus said simply, handing the wallet over. "You must have knocked it over."

How could he have missed that?

"Makes sense," Shawn muttered, stuffing it into his back pocket.

"You okay?" Gus asked curiously after an awkward moment of silence.

Plastering a grin on his face, Shawn slipped his shoes on and said, "Yeah, I'm fine. Let's go out and have fun already, and Dude, you're the designated driver, I hope you know."

"What? No way! We'll just call a cab and split the fare if we need to," Gus said, heading out the front door.

"Works for me," Shawn said, closing and locking the door behind him.

He only really went out at night now if someone else was driving, and he frequently used the '_I'm too drunk_' excuse if anyone needed persuading. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't a moron and after his fifth near-miss while driving his motorcycle at night, he decided to quit while he was ahead, especially after his peripheral did a nose-dive. It was one thing to drive with night-blindness, lots of people did that, but it was a whole different ballpark now that he was severely lacking in the side-vision department. He still drove during the day though, there were no problems with that.

It was close to nine when they arrived at a bar that was a popular hang-out for the young and the restless. Its flashing neon sign cut through the darkness like a beacon as they drove by, searching for a parking space. The inside was darker than Shawn would have liked, but having been there a few times before, he looked past that and enjoyed the rest of the bar's atmosphere.

The night started out good enough. Shawn won a game of pool against Gus despite having difficulties seeing the eight ball and he also successfully flirted with and received the numbers of several attractive women. Gus seemed to be doing pretty good too, if the triumphant grins he kept throwing Shawn were anything to go by.

Things took a steady slide downhill though when Shawn knocked a drink over onto the woman sitting next to him. It had been an accident, really, though he honestly wasn't sure if it was due to the fact that he was well past buzzed or if it was because he hadn't seen the glass. Most likely it was a combination of the two. Whatever the reason, the woman raged about clumsy drunks ruining her new dress and her boyfriend, who was clearly trying too hard to impress her, practically challenged Shawn to a fight to the death.

Before Shawn could get a word in edgewise, Gus came to his rescue and quickly diffused the situation. He handed the woman one of their business cards and told her to call them about the dry-cleaning bill. She frowned, staring down at the business card, but agreed nonetheless.

The two friends left soon after, which was fine because Shawn didn't feel much like partying anymore that night anyway, and they waited outside for a cab.

Leaning against the building with his arms crossed over his chest, Shawn said with a slight slur, "I could have talked my way out of the fight."

"I know," Gus said, sounding like he was humoring the psychic. "You're not as much of a smooth talker when you're drunk though."

" 'm not _that_ drunk," Shawn grumbled. "How do you always manage to keep a level head even after having a few?"

"I've had plenty of practice with you as my friend," Gus said, amused, and they shared a short laugh.

"Yeah," Shawn sighed.

"I _do_ trust you, you know that, right?" Gus asked, leaning against the wall next to Shawn.

'_What is he talking about?_' Shawn wondered, raising an eyebrow in his friend's direction.

"I mean, those trust exercises," Gus reminded him. "I would totally let you lead me through a mine field."

'_Ah, right_,' Shawn remembered.

The trust exercises they were almost roped into at the corporate retreat in which Shawn would lead a blind-folded Gus through an obstacle course. Thinking about it now, Shawn was glad that they managed to get out of what was bound to be a disaster of a trust exercise. For a second, he almost wanted to laugh and make a joke about 'the blind leading the blind' until that melting block of ice in his stomach froze back over. It was anything but funny.

His hands curled into fists at his side, but he forced a smile on his face and said with a shaky confidence he hoped Gus was too drunk to notice, "Who sees better than me, right?"

Gus smiled back.

'_Only everybody I know..._'

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_That's all for chapter three. I'd like to thank everyone for their wonderful reviews. All of your comments give me an insight into the story that I wouldn't be able to see myself. I'd love to respond to each of you individually, but I'm so swamped with school (darn summer semesters, they're a beast), I barely have the time to write _this_._

_More to come. Review please! _


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey everyone. I just want to let you all know that for the next two weeks, I will have very limited internet access (30 minutes to 1 hour a day at best if I can make it to the library). I'll still be writing and posting to the best of my ability, but I won't be able to look up any information on Psych episodes, so please excuse any inaccuracies. Part of this chapter takes place around the episode Sixty Five Million Years Off._

Lawyers: Our client does not own Psych, nor is she gaining any profit by writing this fic. Don't sue her.

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**Chapter Four**

They moved stuff around in the station. There were a few new recruits coming in and they had to make room. Desks, chairs and other things of the sort that Shawn had noted the position of had been moved, so his mental map of the SBPD was no longer of any use.

His vision had declined to the point of being between nine and thirty, and in the months that it had gone down, Shawn had developed a bit of a reputation for being clumsy. It wasn't his usual vision clumsiness where he flailed his arms and knocked into things. No, it was a genuine 'trip over, knock over, smack into things' clumsiness that he had no control over _at all._

He was painfully reminded of this fact when he ran right into one of the station's support columns that jumped out of nowhere; a support column that he would _usually_ know the exact location of based on the placement of Lassiter's desk which had changed since the last time he was at the station because they decided to _move things!_

'_I hope nobody saw that,_' he thought, rubbing at his sore nose.

How was anyone supposed to see one of those support columns anyway when they were painted the same color as the walls and weren't too far off from the color of the floor?

'_No problem,_' he thought, taking a deep, soothing breath. '_I'm calm, cool and collected. I'll just have to make up a new mental map of this place, no big deal. First though, I need to get a case._'

He hadn't had a case in a while now. The Chief hadn't called him in for anything and he and Gus had been stuck doing missing pet cases, something that got old really quick after several long weeks. As he searched for Chief Vick, he couldn't help but wonder _why_ they hadn't been called in for a case. Granted, he wasn't as quick at solving them as he was when he first started out, but still, he got the job done. Did anyone actually notice a change in the quality of his work? Maybe someone noticed that he wasn't seeing as well as he should be.

No, that's ridiculous.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Juliet seemed to come out of nowhere.

"Hey, Shawn, what brings you here?" she asked cheerfully.

'_What do you think?_'

"Jules, where's the love? I haven't heard from you or anybody else here about a case for weeks. What gives?" he asked.

"We just haven't needed any psychic intuition on any of the cases," she said simply with a shrug. Stepping around him, she walked off with a few case files in hand.

Not about to be brushed off that easily, Shawn followed her, saying, "What do you mean? I can always help in some way for you guys."

"What can I say, Shawn? Carlton's been on such a roll with cases, we haven't needed outside help," she said.

Shawn frowned. Suddenly Lassiter's on a winning streak and they don't need him anymore?

'_I'll just have to prove my worth to them again,_' he thought, and as the Chief came out and announced that a body has just been found, Shawn smiled. '_Now's my chance_'

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Shawn was back to getting cases on a regular basis again, but that didn't stop his vision from dropping down to around eleven and twenty-eight. Sighing, he found himself once again sitting in his apartment, all of the lights turned on, but this time with a phonebook open on his lap rather than a pamphlet.

He had seen the small ad in the yellow pages by coincidence one night when he had been searching for different restaurants that delivered. At the time, he had purposely ignored it, turning the page and putting it out of his mind. He went back to it again though when he was having a particularly bad day after a rather difficult case and stared at the ad for a good half-hour before shaking his head and closing the phone book.

He repeated this process several time afterwards and was doing it again today; opening the phone book, looking at the ad, then deciding against it and closing the phone book.

"It would just be a precautionary measure," he mumbled out loud.

His hand rested on the cordless phone by his side.

"Not because I need it, just for my own convenience," he assured himself.

It took another ten minutes before he actually dialed the number.

_"Hello, you've reached the Braille Institute of Santa Barbara. How may I help you?"_

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_That's all for this chapter. The Braille Institute is an actual place in Santa Barbara, but any description I give of it will probably be false. (shrugs) There's only so much you can research about a place._

_Review Please!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Hey everyone! Since the last chapter was so sort, I decided to write/post the next one as well. Enjoy!_

Lawyers: Our client does not own Psych, nor is she gaining any profit by writing this fic. Don't sue her.

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**Chapter Five**

He had almost been hit by a car. It hadn't been dark out, he hadn't even been riding his bike. He had just been trying to cross the street, in a crosswalk no less, when he was almost hit by a car. It had been fairly early in the morning, early for Shawn at least, and he decided to walk down to the smoothie shop rather than ride his bike for once.

He was on his way back with his smoothie in hand when he stepped out into the street. It had never been a busy street to begin with and he hadn't even seen the car coming, barely even noticed the rumble of its engine.

Thankfully, another pedestrian had been kind enough to pull him out of the way before he became road pizza. By the time the adrenaline rush wore off, Shawn was safely back home. That's when the twinges of depression sunk in.

Had his vision gotten so bad that he couldn't even cross the street and if he couldn't do that, then how was he supposed to solve a case? He had been ignoring the existence of his disease for so long that it suddenly felt like it was sneaking up on him all at once. It wasn't fair. He was supposed to have at least another ten to thirteen years before he should even be worrying about it. Why, after all the good that he's done, did he end up getting the short end of the stick in the vision department?

There was still so many places he hasn't been and so many things he hasn't seen. What if time got away from him and he lost his chance?

Grabbing a pen and a pad of paper, Shawn plopped down on his couch and wrote down at the top of the page:

_Shawn Spencer's List of Things to See in the next 5 Years_

Because, if not ten, he should at least have five years, right?

Frowning, Shawn wrote down under the title:

_Before 15 and 25_

_1) Jules in a bikini during a non-work related outing, so not another undercover job but an actual nice day at the beach._

_2) A pineapple themed luau **in** Hawaii._

_3) Dad throwing away at least three of his hideously loud shirts while wearing a shirt that will **not** make me go blind quicker._

_4) My old co-workers at the tattoo parlor in Arizona and that tattoo I never ended up getting. I might even get it since I won't even be able to see it after a while, so it's not like I'd have to worry about tattooer's regret._

_5) Glass blown in the shape of a pineapple. How cool would that be?_

_6) Mom... Haven't visited her in a while._

_8) I want to see a sunset at the Grand Canyon. It's been so long since I've been there; I want to be able to see it again._

_9) The look on Lassi's face when he **finally** admits I'm psychic. He's stubborn, but I'll get him to say it someday!_

_10) Tropical, shiny, colorful fish in a coral reef. I can't believe I've never gone scuba diving. I'll have to change that, and I don't care what Dad says, fish should be looked at and admired with a hypnotized, zombie-like expression, not caught._

_11) I want to see at least five of the 'world's largest.' The world's largest pineapple. The world's largest ball of twine. I was to see a tiger **play** with the world's largest ball of twine._

_12) A seal let loose in the pool at the Olympics. It was funny at the YMCA and it'll be even funnier at the Olympics. Secretly draining and refilling an Olympic sized pool with non-chlorine water might be a bit trickier though._

_13) Jules, Lassi, Dad, Gus, Chief Vick and me on an episode of Jerry Springer. Imagine the possibilities!_

_14) The look on Dad's face if I were to cover his entire house with wrapping paper and a giant bow. It should be for some sort of big event though. Something like 'Happy 50th Birthday!' paper, or maybe I could have a giant card about the event to go along with it._

_15) I want to go on a world tour and see everything, but not because it's an amazing tourist attraction. No, I want to see it all just because it's different._

_16) I want to see Jules and what she would wear on a real first date with me and if things actually went as planned for once in my life and I made it to the second, third and any other amount of dates it took, I want to see her expression if I were to propose to her because although she said she's against the traditional marriage, I could tell from that sparkle in her eyes that she wants something like that at some point in her life and even if we never ended up together, I want to see what her children will look like because I know that they'll look as beautiful as her_

-and the worst part of it all is that there's no way he could see something like that within five years.

As reality slowly came back to him, his cellphone rang. Setting the pen and paper down, Shawn got up to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Spencer, I have a case for you to look at," Chief Vick said. "How soon can you and Mr. Guster get here?"

It was supposed to be a day off for both of them, but Shawn was always happy to take a case. Gus may need some persuading, but Shawn was sure he could convince him.

"We'll be down there lickety-split, Chief," he said before hanging up.

Shawn looked back over at the list. Usually he'd have no problems with just leaving on some crazy trip, but he actually had a job that he liked here. Something like that was rare and he couldn't just leave it behind.

"As long as I have a job as a psychic detective and that job doesn't get dull or boring, I'll stay in Santa Barbara."

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_That's all for chapter five. I know, I said there was no _planned_ romance, and there wasn't. The Shawn/Juliet thing just kind of happened on its own. __Shawn's coming around a little bit, but we'll see where this all leads._

_Review please_


	6. Chapter 6

_Hey everyone. This chapter takes place before Gus' Dad may have Killed an Old Guy. I don't remember what gifts Shawn got people, but I think it was mostly different snow globes._

Lawyers: Our client does not own Psych, nor is she gaining any profit by writing this fic. Don't sue her.

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**Chapter Six**

The Braille Institute turned out to be nice enough and it offered much more than Shawn had been expecting. They had counseling available; something that Shawn assured them he wouldn't be needing. He'd have to stay on his toes though because judging from the looks some of the volunteers and workers there gave him, they weren't going to drop the subject that easily.

_'Even though they should because I'm **fine** and whining about my problems isn't going to change anything.'_

They also had a few offers specifically for people with low vision along with a number of different classes, and after getting a referral from Dr. Field, it was all available to him free of charge. Well, mostly free. Some of the art classes required a fee for supplies, but Shawn wasn't really interested in those classes. The only downside was that the majority of people taking the classes were much older than him. It was hard _not_ to feel out of place in a situation like that.

When he went into the Institute, he only really planned on taking a class about learning braille; partly because he thought that was the only class they offered, but upon getting there and learning otherwise, he assured the woman giving him the tour and the rundown of the place that he didn't _need_ to take any of the other classes because he could still see pretty well.

Living with Vision Loss, Independent Living Skills, Orientation and Mobility, and Sensory Awareness were some of the main core classes they offered. He was living just fine with his vision loss, _thanks_, and he didn't need to take any of those other classes because as he said before, he could still see pretty well. It would be pointless to take the classes. They'd probably have to blindfold him just for him to learn the lessons correctly; otherwise, it'd be like cheating, and he was not a cheater-cheater pumpkin-eater.

_'So then why are you looking at canes for your classes?'_ that annoying little part of his mind that was beginning to sound suspiciously like Gus said in a smug tone.

_'I'm just looking for curiosity's sake, okay?'_ Shawn snapped at the nagging Gus voice. _'For your information, they provide you with a cane and the only reason I agreed to take those classes was to stop all of the women at the Institute from pestering me about it!'_

_'I always figured you'd end up in an institution,'_ the Gus voice said.

_'It's an institute of **knowledge** and **learning**, so shut up,'_ Shawn thought with a mental pout.

The Gus voice silenced itself, and with no more distractions, Shawn moved past the canes on display and left the store, it didn't have anything he wanted anyway, so that he could continue his search for the perfect presents. It was mid-December and with the holidays upon them, everyone including Shawn was rushing to get some last minute shopping in. He had taken a bus to the nearest mall since he knew the trip, even if he rode his bike, would go past nightfall, and Gus was going to be picking him up by the food court entrance later on.

With most of the people on his gift list crossed off, he just had a few more gifts to go, but he wanted them to be more personalized and special than the other gifts he got people. They were going to the ones he was closest to, though he'd never admit it to some of them out loud. That's when he saw the sign on a store's display window.

_Personalized Snow Globes_

It was perfect.

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Along with the snow globes, the store also specialized in engravings and other gifts of the sort. He had been able to get the rest of his shopping done there and he even had some time to spare. With his shopping bags in hand, he decided that he'd had enough of shopping for the night, so he might as well head down to the food court and wait out the rest of the time for Gus to get there. He friend was probably already on his way.

That's when the worst happened. His vision suddenly went black and he mentally screamed as his heart dropped into his stomach. It took him a moment to notice the distressed and confused voices of the people around him in the mall's massive corridors and, quickly putting the puzzle pieces together, he realized that it was just a power outage. A brief flash of lightning from the mall's skylights confirmed it.

As he calmed down a little bit, Shawn could just barely make out the faint glow of the mall's emergency backup lights. Unfortunately, they weren't nearly bright enough for him to see anything other than the glowing outlined silhouettes of the people who walked under the lights.

_'That's fine, everything's fine. This is what you've been taking those classes for,'_ he reminded himself. _'Just calm down and think. Where are you in the mall and where is the food court?'_

It seemed kind of redundant, but Shawn closed his eyes anyway so that he could concentrate and block out the eerie sight of the people's shadowed forms moving around him. He was on the second floor and the food court was on the first floor. If he remembered correctly, the stairs leading down was back a ways behind him.

_'Okay, perfect. Landmarks?'_

Well, if he could actually _see_ it, there was a toy store and a jewelry store near the stairs. The toy store was on the side of the corridor he was on and just before that was a shoe store. So he needed to keep an eye out for anything shaped like lots of shoes and toys.

Feeling a bit more confident, Shawn opened his eyes even though that didn't change much and, turning around, he located the wall closest to him.

_'So far, so good.'_

He walked with his hand dragging against the wall so that he could feel the entrances of the stores and move past them. With each store he passed, he would pause to see if he could make out anything that looked like shoes or toys. After a lot of walking, he stopped because he was sure he would have passed the stores by now. He didn't remember the stairs being this far away.

'_A cane sure would be helpful right about now,'_ the Gus voice said.

_'Quiet, I'm trying to think,'_ he mentally growled.

He had only had three classes in each course so far, and he done each class with the limited vision that he was used to, not the almost complete blindness he was faced with right now. Who was he kidding? He didn't know what he was doing and he wasn't expecting to be tested at this place, so it wasn't like he had it all mapped out in his mind like he did his apartment or the station.

Everything was far too disorienting and the more he panicked, the more disoriented he got. People swarmed around him everywhere as they too made their way out of the mall and he kept bumping into them left and right. He could only feel the way around with one hand because the other was busy holding his bags, and the sounds of the stores closing up to avoid theft kept distracting him. He was stuck and he didn't know what to do.

Then his father's voice echoed in his mind, _'Don't be afraid to ask for help.'_

"Ex-excuse me?" Shawn called out to the moving shadows. "Could one of you help me please? I can't see well in the dark."

There was no answer and the shadows kept moving. Shawn's free hand tightened against the wall. He didn't want to let go, it was his connection to the environment, but he knew if he wanted to get someone's attention, he'd actually have to move _into_ the crowd.

Steeling himself, he took a deep breath before letting go and plunging into the crowd. People moved past him in all directions, making the effort to step around him, but otherwise ignoring him.

"Excuse me," he called out again, his eyes jumping from one moving shadow to the next. "Could somebody help me, I can't see well in the dark."

Still, there was no response. Everyone was far too preoccupied with their own agenda to pay him any mind.

Deciding to take a more direct approach, he grabbed the arm of a woman, he could tell she was a woman from the outline of her dress, and said, "Ma'am, could you please help me, I-"

She pulled her arm away and disappeared into the crowd. Not about to give up that easily, Shawn grabbed the sleeve of what he guessed was a man and said, "Sir, if you could just help me for five minutes-"

"Not interested," the man grunted, pulling away.

"But... I'm not selling anything," Shawn said, watching the man's shadow merge with the other shadows.

Shawn couldn't believe how inconsiderate everyone was being. He wasn't oblivious as to how mean people could be, he'd seen enough murder cases to know the truth, but here he was, asking for help _multiple_ times and nobody seemed to care.

_'Maybe the whole 'can't see in the dark' thing would be more believable if you had the cane,'_ the Gus voice pointed out.

_'I don't need a cane, I just need some help!'_ he snapped.

"Sir, could you just- Ma'am, I need some-" Shawn went back and forth between people in the crowd, not even caring at this point if he smacked into somebody and knocked them or their things to the ground. _They_ were the ones who could see, they should watch where _they're_ going. Everyone was going in so many different directions, it was impossible to follow the crowd out.

_'I wonder if Gus is here already.'_

"Could somebody please help me! I can't see anything in the dark, I'm... I'm blind. Could someone help me, I'm blind!" Shawn called out.

He was so frustrated, he almost felt close to tears and he hated it. He hated the whole situation; feeling weak and helpless and vulnerable all because the _stupid_ lights were out.

"Sir, are you okay?" a young female voice asked, and Shawn turned around to see the silhouettes of three people standing before him.

"We saw you mow down this old chick, which was _awesome_, by the way, but then we heard you asking for help," a second voice, clearly male, said.

"Yes," Shawn said, his nerves still on edge. "I'm blind in the dark like this. I couldn't find my way out. Could... could you help me get to the food court entrance? A friend's coming to pick me up there."

He felt embarrassed, telling these three strangers his problem, but now that there was someone actually willing to help, he wasn't going to pass up his chance.

"Sure, no problem," the girl who first spoke said, looping her arm around Shawn's before leading him through the mall. "My name is Emma, by the way. To your right is my friend Justin and on my left is my other friend Hailey."

"My name's Shawn and I want to thank you guys for helping me," Shawn said, calming down a bit.

"It's no problem," another girl, Hailey, said with a smile in her voice.

"So why don't you have one of those white cane things?" Justin asked.

"Justin!" Emma scolded.

"What? I'm just curious!" Justin said defensively.

Shawn smiled, and said, "It's fine. Actually, I don't have one, didn't really think I'd need one. I can still see pretty well when it's bright out..."

Emma hummed in acknowledgement, and Shawn could tell that she wanted to say something on the matter but politely held back. It was the same way many of the people at the Braille Institute acted around him.

"Okay, we're at the stairs," Hailey announced.

"First step down... here!" Emma said, safely leading him down.

"So what brings you to the mall? Christmas shopping?" Justin asked.

"Yeah, just a few last minute things," Shawn said, his shopping bags still in his grasp.

"Last step," Emma said.

They reached the first floor and moved on in the direction of the food court. It had only been around ten minutes since Shawn met these teens, he was judging that they were teens based on how young their voices sounded and how Justin talked, and he had gotten further with them in that ten minutes than he had on his own for who knows how long.

As they walked the rest of the way to the food court entrance, the three teens chattering away about what they were doing for the holidays, Shawn's mind began to wander in the direction of '_What if I had been somewhere working on a case and this happened?_' Not only would he have been just as helpless as he had been in the mall, he most likely would have been in a dangerous situation that required the use of his eyes. If someone was with him, he would be putting them in danger by not being on top of his game. Sneaking around on cases had been dangerous enough, but if he suddenly lost _all_ of his vision...

_'It'd even be dangerous with the way my vision is during the daytime, and if it continues on the path that it's been going...'_

Throughout his life, he has faced one dangerous situation after another, so danger was nothing new to him. He shouldn't be afraid of a dangerous situation, and yet, it was different. He had never been worried before when faced with danger because with his photographic memory, his detective skills and his ability to read someone, he always felt like he had the upper hand. No matter the situation, he always had some form of control. Now though, he didn't know what to do.

His control was slowly being taken away and he was left floating in the dark abyss.

_'Eventually it's all going to catch up to me and someone's going to get hurt. I... I don't think I can keep doing this; the cases, my whole psychic act... I'm going to have to quit Psych.'_

"Oh good, it's stopped raining," Hailey said, snapping Shawn out of his thoughts.

He didn't even notice that he had been lead outside through two sets of doors. His vision didn't really improve any since there were no street lights, but he could feel the wind blowing and the scent of rain was still strong even though it had stopped.

"So what does your friend's car look like?" Emma asked.

"It's blue, very, very blue. In fact, it looks like a blueberry," Shawn said.

"I think I see it," Hailey said, sounding unsure.

Shawn looked around, but couldn't really make out any details besides headlights on the massive shadowed forms of the cars slowly making their way around the parking lot, until-

"Oh yeah, that must be it," Justin said. "Dude's flashing his lights at us."

"Thanks so much for all of your help, guys, but could you not mention the whole blind thing to my friend? He doesn't really know yet," Shawn said a bit sheepishly.

"That doesn't sound very safe," Emma murmured, unwrapping her arm from his and moving to hold his hand instead.

"Emma, drop it," Hailey said quietly.

"Yeah, sure, no problem dude, our lips are sealed," Justin said.

Emma sighed quietly through her nose, but said, "Alright, come on then."

The three walked him across the busy parking lot over to the car they spotted, and as they got closer, Shawn could see that it was in fact Gus' blue company car. Shawn didn't need to see it to know that Gus was giving him a 'where have you been?' look. Letting go of Emma's hand, Shawn carefully placed his purchases into the backseat before opening the passenger's side door.

The light in the car came on when he did, giving him a chance to see what his three rescuers looked like. As he suspected, they were in their teens and the funny thing was that they really didn't look like the sort of group to be helping out a blind guy like him. Their hair was dyed all sorts of different odd colors, Justin's hair was longer than the two girls', and they were all dressed up like your stereotypical punk goths.

_'It just goes to show you that you can't judge someone by their looks,'_ Shawn mused.

"Thanks again guys," Shawn said with a smile.

"Bye, Shawn," Hailey and Emma said.

"Maybe we'll see you around, dude," Justin said. "Take care."

Waving at them, Shawn closed the door and Gus pulled away. As soon as they were out of the mall parking lot, Gus glanced over at Shawn and asked, "Who were those people and what were you doing with them?"

"I met them during the power outage," Shawn said simply with a shrug. "They're good conversationalists, we got so busy talking about psychic and holiday stuff that I lost track of time."

When Gus began ranting about how Shawn should be more responsible, Shawn tuned him out in favor of thinking about his current dilemma. He couldn't continue his work as a psychic detective. Sure, he could probably complete a few more cases successfully, but he'd had to throw in the towel eventually and he was really pushing it as it was. He should quit while he was ahead, it would be the smart thing to do.

'_How am I going to tell Gus?_'

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_So, yeah, that's all for this chapter. The part with Shawn asking for help is actually pretty realistic. You'd be surprised by how insensitive people can be. Transitions between a way of thinking is tricky stuff, so hopefully that came out okay._

_Review please and tell me what you think!_


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